Dingo Dog, RIP.

   Well, he's gone. Figure he lost his pulse a few hours ago. Laying there, out in the sun. Gasping. Tongue sticking out. Couldn't seem to take the water I was offering him.

 

  Choices? Put a shotgun to his head. Make a noise that would scare my other Dogs. Make a fucking god awful mess that would be there for ever.

 

  Drag him off to a vet's? Saturday. Local, " We don't come out for Dogs, Any day! " shit house is shut.

 

   Arrange a taxi to the 'Emergency' place? Next county away? He wouldn't have lasted that trip.

 

  Nope. Just left him there, for nature to take its course. Which it did. It's been obviously coming for months now.

 

  But, each night, he's wanted his grub. I've given it. He's ate it. Anywhere between two or five cans. I've gladly fed him as much as he'd eat.

 

  Cans. Lately, " Chum ". He seemed to prefer soft, tinned meat to raw lamb. He got offered both. Ate both, in part. Up till last night. Ate it then.

 

  One less for dinner, tonight. He's in the wheel barrow. Down in the stables. Pat's coming, Monday, to dig the hole I'm simply no longer physically capable of digging.

 

  Oh! I can sweep up the saw dust though. Last year or two, le Ding had taken to ~ when ever the feeling came upon him ~ drinking a bit much water. Then honking it up on the floor here.

 

  Mopping up water / slime from a concrete floor gets old. I reverted to what my Dad showed me. Gave this place over to a kennel. Strewed saw dust everywhere. Easier.

 

  And now, he's gone. Shit will move forward around here. Balzac will, Tonight, become the Room Dog. Faaark!

 

  Tomorrow, I'll likely have to remind myself that it's Him, stretched out, or curled up on my futon. Not Dinger. Ding's gone. Fuck.

 

  le Ding always slept on the foot. On top of the quilt. Funny Dog. Never once was able to convince him to sneak inside and join the pile of who ever else was snuggling there.

 

  That's enough. I've got to figure out the new feeding regimen now. Ding always ate his grub in the kitchen. Balzac in his cage. Sausage on the futon.

 

  Tonight, what? I don't know. And I've got to figure it.

 

  " Valentino " ~ Kev? Thank you, mate. I kept my fucking promise. I swore to ye, I'd give Dingo Dog the best fucking life he could hope for.

 

  Twelve? Thirteen years old? That Dog never, in my presence, knew a cold, hungry, lonely day. Never had a fucking hand raised against him. Barely a day he wasn't actually told he was loved.

 

Still is. But, it's dinner time now. For the ones left. And how the Fuck am I going to work this new feeding regimen out?

 

  I never thought of This. Shit!

 

  Miss ye, Ding! Now, finally, the fucking tears!

 

le Ding, And His Fourth Can ....!

  This is tremendous! :D  I've been wanting to mention Dingo Dog, for some time now. Partly, just to let his fan base know that the old sod's still going, bless him!

 About equally though, because I'm so damn aware that, any day now, I may be posting his 'RIP'.

  But, anyway; Here we are. February of 2019. And the dear old soul's still fucking hanging on in here! This Dog is one Truly Blessed fucker too!

  For those who don't know his story? Take my word for it. This fucking Dog dodges bullets like that cunt on the roof top, in that Matrix film! Born doing it. Looks like he'll die doing it.

  Latest ~ and  typically James Bond level, for Dinger ~ was the first week in January. This is as close as Any fucking Dog gets. But, of course ~ for those who know ~ Dingo Dog just does this. 

  I've got this latest little pair of rescue's here. Ellie and Licky. Thing is, see, in December, Ellie Belly came into season. Obviously then, with the eternal pup, Balzac, about? I had to go Broadmoor on the place. Complete lock down.

  Now, I mean, poor old Ding; He's so fucking old now, I figure the only fuck left in him is the one that's holding him together. His old legs are sometimes a bit shaky. His eyes don't always appear the most focused. He is one Old Dog now, bless him.

  So, while I'd never leave him alone with Ellie? I was hardly concerned he'd manage anything. Doubt there'd be any pups, even if he survived the try. So, I let him stagger about, mooning over her, when he had the energy.

  First week in January. It was a Friday. Ding had taken to throwing up, now and then. Just chucking up a pool of clear, watery slime. The night or so before? He'd refused his dinner. Shit wasn't looking good.

  He's on tinned meat now. He likes it. Maybe he's just past crunching those lamb bones? What ever. He likes his tins. Eats three, most nights. Has, on occasion, eaten less. Even I'll go the odd night when I just don't bother to eat.

  But, this friday, he hadn't eaten. He was staggering around on visibly shaking legs. He threw up a pool of clear slime, three times or more. He was whimpering. It was fucking pitiful to watch. It was time.

  Knowing our local vet is so fucking useless and money driven, they won't come out for small animals, I rang Pat. Asked him if he thought the vet's would come out to put a Dog down. (This is how ye play, in Leitrim)

  Pat said they wouldn't. Said his daughter, from America, was there. She'd be going back tomorrow ..... Give him half an hour .....

  I knew Pat would come through! Half hour. He'd connect the little horse trailer and we'd ferry poor Dinger down the road. I have his grave stone and name plaque ready.

  I sat here, watching poor Dingo Dog. Poor old sod. Had him over ten years now. Slept on the end of my bed every night of those years. Always been the most respectful Dog to who ever else came here. Always deferred to bitches. Fine with Dogs. Now .....

  Five minutes; His legs shook and he whined. Ten minutes; He drank some water. Fifteen minutes; What The Fuck?!? I Know this Dog ....! Look how he's holding himself. How he's walking ....!

  Twenty minutes? I'm back on the phone to Pat! Stand Down! Call it all the fuck off! Ellie Belly's fever's broke. Her Heat has ended. le Dingo Dog has regained his fucking senses! The lust crazed old nutter!

  And, Ding's like:

  And, tonight, he scoffed Four fucking tins of his favourite grub. Just because he felt like it. And he knew, if he ate the three. Licked the shine off his bowl. Then looked at me? What Dingo Dog wants; Dingo Dog Gets!

  Venerable fucking Ding!

le Ding Lives ....!

  I've just joined a Pest Control place, by invitation of an old mate. Turns out there's more old faces there than a fucking grave yard! Thus, I'm having a whale of a time and shaking many hands.  It's fucking Great, frankly. And I must sort out where Lloydy's got to!

  But, anyway, yeah; 'Matters' said something about This place. Don't think he was the only one. I've also had people from else where nudging me. Basically asking where I've got to. What I've been up to.

  Simple and honest truth? No where and fuck all! It really Is / Has Been That fucking simple! I've been quietly living my quiet life. Nothing's happened that I felt anyone would be vaguely interested in hearing about. So, obviously, I haven't said shit.

  Then, today, sitting here, minding my own business, reading some bollocks on THL, probably, I heard a nail scrape on render. I looked down, beside my chair. And my fucking heart so swelled with love ..... I took this picture:

    There he fucking is, look! Bless him! He'd crept in. Laid down next to Dad. And he was scratching the wall in his sleep. Look at his furry, pointy ears! God, I Love this fucking Dog!!!

  I just wanted to let ye know; Yes. le Ding. Dingo Dog, is Still going strong! God knows how old he must be, by now. I must have had him, what? Ten fucking years, by now?

  He's absolutely the sweetest, most wonderful natured, endearing Dog I've ever fucking had! 

   Yes, I've had Dogs that were (Are) complete little extensions of my very soul. Dogs who people referred to way above and beyond that guy on the lead. I have a photo of one of my Dogs here, Virtually a fucking shrine!

  But, le Ding is the one who torments Pestical, when the devil is in him. Who sniffs the hole in the door, as he wanders in here. Who is, and has been, the general, quiet, innocent, harmless presence about this place, virtually since I can remember. I fucking Worship him! 

  " Valentino "; When you explained, on THL, that " Dingo " needed homing, I PM'd you and told ye I'd like him. I told ye straight; He wouldn't be seeing a load of 'work', with me. But, that he'd be taken care of. 

  Frankly? My strongest vibe there was that I wouldn't be 'getting rid of' him, once he'd " Jacked " against his fourteenth fox, in a night, or what ever shit gives those little wankers a hard on about their Dogs.

  Ding ding could, obviously, destroy dinky, fragile boned little foxes, all day and night. So fucking what? The very sight of him has kept my gate clear, for Years now. Far bigger things than little foxes give this strange, vibe throwing Dog a wide berth. 

  This post is, really, going out to you, mate. In the hope that ye still out there. And doing well. And, at least, any where as happy as le Ding is. 

  He's just sighed, and shifted position on my futon. Tonight, he'll stalk about on it, till he finds just the right spot. Then, he'll lay down, on my legs, as he does ~ and has done ~ every night. 

  What I'm trying to convey here, mate ~ and I So hope you, or someone who can get this to ye is reading this ~ ..... My absolute and Eternal, heart felt Thanks for trusting me. 

  You saved le Ding, Twice. Thank You. Third time? I guess he Really hit the fucking jackpot. But, so, it seems, did I.

Evil Little Dog Found A Bone .....

  The other day this was. Nice, sunny day. Promise of Spring. Just before it turned into fucking Alaska ....!

  Anyway, yeah. I looked out there and saw Evil Little Dog, my Jack Russell, digging around with something by the fence line.

  " What ye got there, Evil Little Dog? Show me. "

  'Got a bone, Dad. I found it. Now I'm gonna gnaw this mother fucker like there's no tomorrow!'

  Well, I've got a look at that bone and wondered. Frankly. It wasn't ye standard bit of rib bone. Nor was it a leg bone. Sort of shit a person might throw to a Dog. And an Evil Little Dog find and steal.

  My grave yard Did cross my mind, to be honest. But, I bury my Dogs deep enough that nothing in its right mind would be digging that far, now, for old bones.

   I don't think Evil Little Dog would bother.  She vanishes, night and day. She's allowed to. Because she's too small to seriously bother a cow. And she's ~ obviously ~ too fucking small to fence in.

  Anyway, she had this bone. Up to her. But, I told her how I needed her indoors now. All of them in. I had shit to do. She could bring her bone and shit would have to sort itself out.

  I dropped her in here, with the others. I had work to do, other side of the door.  I'd hear, if hell broke out. Four Dogs? One bone? 

  Know what? I had to come in here, at some point. Grab something I needed out there. And Pesticle's showing me the bone she now has. Happily chewing and sucking on it. Not a care in the world.
Evil Little Dog's now in her box. Snugly snoozing.

  Maybe half an hour later, I'm back in here again. And there's le fucking Dinger. Mouthing a somewhat reduced bit of bone. Only, he drops it, down the back of the bed,

  Niggie Dog tries to help le Ding dig it out. But, that's not gonna happen. So, I reach under the pallet and fetch this spitty lump of bone out.

  " Here ye go, Dingo Dog. " I say. " I reckon ye've about had ye share of this. Let's let the Nigger have his share. "  And I gave the lump to Niggie. (Munch, munch, munch)

  See what I'm saying there? No claims of Dog Trainer. Let alone 'Dog fucking Whisperer'.  This lot really has fuck all to do with me. It's my Dogs.

  Left to themselves, look, my two ridiculously disparate bitches ~ an American Bulldog and a Jack Russell. And the Dingo Dog and Nigger. They've just sorted their shit out.


  How about I introduce them to the concept of " God " ? For fuck sake ..... See what happens then.

Just Got My Nuts Out .....

  Lovely, sunny day here today, in Leitrim. Pesticle's been sitting outside the window. Catching some welcome first rays. Evil Little Dog's god knows where; Doing no harm. All's good. Dogs doing their things as I did mine.

Had a fucking rat, lately. Getting on my peanut basket, day and night. Pain in the arse. I don't pay for peanuts to feed fucking rats! Started taking them in, at night. Then, as I tried catch some birds in the day? I was looking out there to find this bastard all over my nuts again!

  Well, fuck that. I know where they live. I took them a little something. Few days ago. Went Kenyan on them.

  So, anyway; Here I am. Doors open. Dogs all wandering about, doing their things. I got a scuttle of fuel in and fed the stove enough to keep it ticking over. le Ding wandered in and sat watching me.

  Decided to empty the stoves ash tray. Explaining all this to Dingo Dog as he sat close by. " There we go, Ding Ding, mate. Dad keeps it going, look. It'll get cold enough again, once that sun goes down. "

  Ding took in my every word. Even as I started picking up odd bits of dusty cardboard off the floor around me where I knelt. I've learned to put opened out cardboard boxes on the floor in here. Amazingly warm under bare feet. The Dogs like to lay on it too.

  Just gathered up a handful of the stuff le Ding and Pesticle had shredded, in times of madness. Told Ding I'd just put these in the rubbish burning stove, in the kitchen. 

  Heaved myself up, off my knees. Absently telling le Ding what a good Dog he was. Just because he is. And I like to tell him. He likes to hear it.

  Turned round, a contented soul. And, yes; I rather loudly screamed an invocation of the name of the all mighty! Who wouldn't? One step toward the door and I'd have trod on what Dingo Dog had brought to show me:

  For fuck sake! 

  Yes, Ding Ding. You're a Very good Dog. Helping look after Dads nuts for him. Only, for fuck sake; Ye might have fucking said something?

For Those Who May Remember " Dingo " .....

  Relax! 
 

  Just wanted to show ye; The old bugger's still around. With me. And loved to bits! 

  He's currently curled up in Niggies bed. le Dings choice. Plenty of room on my mattress. le Ding decided he wanted to be beside me. Here he is, look, as I type this:

    There he is then. Just so ye know. Enjoying every minute of the life I swore I'd give him. le Ding.

  Oh, and how cool is that, eh? I can sign my Dog off ~ tongue in cheek ~ to the Council, as a fucking Dingo! They don't care. 

  See; Here? The way it is is ..... Ye pretty much have what ever fucking Dog ye like. Ye control it.

   Poodle or 'Hungarian Man Eater'; Fine. You have it. You handle it. 'Else, YOU sort out what ever shit storm it fucking causes.

 How cool is that?

le Ding ~ Update .....

 I just thought it was about time I gave le Ding another mention, on here. I know he was well loved, back where I got him from.  He's still being well loved here too, have no fear.

 le Ding's, like all of us, getting no younger though. Bless him. He must be, what? Eight years by now? He came to me in 2007, far as I remember. Think he was two by then.

 Anyway, his coat's thickening. He's looking the same. Just less in need to bounce off walls. He doesn't mind a bit of kip.

 Don't get me wrong. When we get off the bed of a day? He's leaping up and down at the door and can't wait to get out there and see what the day's like.

 And he can still sail over the three foot fence at the bottom. Find a bit of horse shit to nibble. Then come prancing back, delighted with himself, to have me open the four foot gate. He doesn't Do four foot, these days. No reason. Has this idiot open it for him.

 There! See? He's just shown a little restless, on my bed. It's 70 F in here. He's deliberately moved to lay down on the concrete floor. It's that thickening undercoat I mentioned. Keeps his body warm.

 But, the winters here are wet. Incessant fucking rain. It can come at any time. In any form. Could drench le Ding's under coat. Leave him a wet and cold Dog. Especially when he's chained out for his dinner. As all my Dogs are, for an hour or more each evening. 

 My Dingo Dog? Pacing around in the pissing rain. Getting wet and cold?

 Not on My fucking watch he won't! I chain all my Dogs out for their dinner. Leave them there, to save them rushing about playing together, afterwards. Risking a torsion.

 But, let them just walk about in the pissing rain. Getting soaked and miserable? I think not!


 Not my Dinger!

    

Cooler Than Bryan Ferry!

Dingo's Elbows .....

  They must be taken care of. See; I know that some people  come here who knew le Ding personally, in his past life. And they care about him too. Because Dingo Dog's the sort of Dog who can be very endearing.

 So, I thought it was high time I gave him a mention. Just so's you all know he's as happy, healthy and quite perfectly insane as ever he's been. Insane since he got here, anyway. I have that way with Dogs .....

 Sleeps on the end of my bed, once I turn in. Will never get under the quilt, like the Orange Dog. She likes snuggling up for a night long cuddle. le Ding just lays on my legs.

 He likes to run about, on his own legs, too. During the day. I'd like to get more film of him doing that. But, the battery in my camera's fucked. Fully charged, it'll still barely last long enough for me to grab a hasty snap shot.

 It's these evenings though, see? I'm sat here. The Sausage (Orange Dog) likes to sleep on my bed. Niggy has his own bed, right beside me here. With le Dinger though? One can never tell.

 He might go and join the Sausage. He might not. He might spend a bit of time there. Then decide, perhaps, that Nigger's getting more than his fair share of being near to Dad. 

 That's when he'll come and lay beside me too. Only, he's on the cold, concrete floor. Can't be good for his elbows. 

 And ye don't think I'd put up with that, do ye? Not fucking likely! Went into town the other day. Fucking sort this out ....!

le Ding ~ Elbows Safe Now

 

  le Dingo's a very much loved Dog.

Kangaroo .....

Boing. Boing. Boing. Boing .....

I was just singing the praises of le Ding to myself there. Telling myself what a loved Dog he is. He's mad. And hairy. And called " The Dingo Dog ".

 Then it struck me: 'But, he's never seen a kangaroo.' Ye know how the old mind works, while ye fixing ye dinner. Head left pretty much to its own devices ....?

  So, I thought; Should I buy him one? Ye know. Have it around the place. So Dinger could see it. Make him a Dingo Dog who Has seen a kangaroo, fuck ye very much!
  
  But, then, of course, it'd scare the crap out of Pat's fucking cattle, wouldn't it? Anything and Everything scares the crap out of Pat's cattle! Rosie's a horse. They're absolutely fucking terrified of her. 

  And goats? Don't even think about it, sunshine! Goat so much as comes eyeball to eyeball with one of Pat's cowz? Fucking stampede time! Mind you; If I ran into some cunt with horizontally split pupils and horns? Don't think I'd have much to say either.

 Kangaroo though? Remember " Upstairs, Downstairs "? Theme music to the tune of the song; " What Are We Going To Do With Uncle Arthur? " ?

 I sing that to myself. Only, I use Dingers name: " Dingeler Ding the Ding's a Dinger Dingo ..... " Shit like that.  Sorry. Where was I? Ah, yes. Kangaroo's. The mind wanders .....

 So, of course would a kangaroo. Hardly just let one loose on the meadow out there and expect it to be around in the morning. Boing! Boing! Splash! Splash! Moooo!!! Thunder. Splash! " Ditch!!! Ye fucking kangaroo's amongst my cattle!!! "

 Doesn't bode well, does it? Think I'll just settle for showing him a photo then.

 This is a kangaroo:

  

 This is a le Ding:

It's easy to tell the difference, look. le Ding has the smart new collar from Strong Stuff.

 



 
   

A Dog Worth Feeding .....

  Earlier this evening, not long after feeding the Dogs, I became aware that le Dingo Dog and Rats were kicking off like fucking thunder. Le Ding' was shouting his head off and Rats was doing her level best to provide the backings.

 I was a bit distracted. Probably writing a post somewhere. But, they drew my attention and so I leaned back in my chair and glanced out along the track.

 Just in time to see a woman, in a Hi Viz vest exiting, stage left, at the top of the track. And, with that, a bloke popped his head round the hedge before he too vanished.

 Even at this 130 odd yards, my long vision being better than my hearing, these days, I could clearly read the situation. Strangers. They'd wandered into The Track. Either as tourists, exploring, or as visiting Irish people, looking for a short cut.

 They'd realised this place was inhabited and so were getting the fuck out of Dodge. A wise move, in fact. Perhaps the sign, reading; " OK Coral ~ 130 Yards " influenced their decision?

 Anyway, my point is: le Ding and Rats were both still on their food chains. By their positions, and the height of the hedge between them and the track? No fucking way can Rats see up there. Dingo Dog would have to be on his toes to see the end of the track ~ if he could at all, without rearing up.

 What ever. He knew there were strangers. Hundred and thirty yards away. On foot. Out of sight. Damn! Must have scented them. Now I think about it? The wind was coming down the track, this evening.

 How about that? They hadn't got within 130 yards of me, as the crow flies, and my Dinger's going fucking ballistic. " Dad! Strangers! ". Can't see them. Can't hear them. But he knew they were there because he fucking well scented them!

 Factor in that this Dog just looks so 'different' that he scares the shit out of every stranger who makes it to my front gate anyway. And the sure and proven knowledge that he's so Sharp that I daren't let Anyone near him, because I know he Will bite, if they try to touch him .....

 This is a Dog worth fucking feeding! In fact, I feed him like he deserves. And he sleeps on my bed at night.

Night Patrol

  

Niggy The Hero ....!

 Having woken up, yesterday, in ultra light sensitive eyeball agony? I'm afraid all bets were off! Sod the cow shed wall. That'd get sorted another time. Frankly? I just glanced at the horses. Put Dingo and Rats on their chains and high tailed into town. 

 A visit to the Doctors. An eye patch. Some eye stuff. A full course of anti biotics. And a stern warning that, if the eye isn't getting better by the morning? I damn well head straight to Sligo and show A & E the letter in my pocket. 

 That, or I stand to lose the fucking eye!!! 

  Thankfully, the eye drop stuff is patently fantastic gear in itself. Because the guys in the pub said they were seeing improvements every time I lifted the patch for them to have another look at it. 

 And, as I type this? It now feels just a little tender and sore. It's not weeping a river any more either. Which is good. Because it means I can easier tell ye about Niggy. le Ding's ~ and my ~ hero of the day.


 Came home in the taxi and was greeted, at first, by relative silence. Most strange. But, I was listening out for Orange Dog, more than anything. Rats was yapping. That was fine. But, I wasn't hearing Orange Dog.

 Then she kicked off. Obviously just been fast asleep in here, as befits her age and station. All was well. le Ding, I noticed, was round behind his house. The end of his chain pointing in that direction. Nigger was ..... Where was Niggy?

 And, come to that; What was keeping Dingo Dog? Why hadn't he reappeared instantly, to shout for his dinner? What the ....?!

  I couldn't believe the state of the split link which was all that was left of le Ding's elaborate chain set up. How the fuck could he possibly have wrenched That open. Past all those swivels and the J.C. Conner 'T Bar' Shock Spring'

  No time to stand about thinking. I rang Eddie. le Ding always made a bee line up west. Eddie hadn't seen him. Cool. Meant he was probably caught up, somewhere between our properties.

 I crawled into the upper ditch and emerged to walk to Eddie's. Even checked Noel's sheds, beyond. Nothing. No sign. But, if he wasn't snagged on his way there. And he wasn't there. Where had he gone and where was he now?

 As I short cutted back down through Pat's Hill Meadows, I was desperately surveying the vast landscape. Thinking of road traffic. Zealous farmers with shotguns. Dingo Dog caught up somewhere. Out of sight and helpless.

 Back here and I stopped, to regain my composure and bearings. 'Plan A' had flopped. I needed to figure out Plan B. And quickly. So, slow down. Calm down. Think:

 le Ding was gone. Somewhere. Finding him was the objective. Got that.

 Orange Dog had been asleep. Nothing does, or ever should, concern the Orange Dog. Fine.

 Niggy. Where was Niggy, when I came home? He took a minute to respond to my calls. What was keeping him?

 Nig's a Black Labrador. He has the nose of a Field Trial Champion. Of course! " Niggy? Where's Ding, Ding?! Show me! "

 And off he went! Round the side of the cottage. Under that offensive hedge that nearly took my eye out ..... I figured he was heading for Eddie's field and on up to his place. Thus I made a dash for the back gate. To watch where he went.

 He never emerged. I peered into the bushes surrounding 'The Ditch' and caught glimpses of both black and yellow fur! Heard a whimper and called out to let le Ding know I was coming .....

 And that's why Niggy Dog is a Hero. It was only then I noticed the earth smear across the top of his muzzle too. Don't know what he'd been up to. But, he's never had that before. 

 I figure he'd been trying to somehow unhitch le Ding's chain. The chain which, mercifully, had acted like a trappers drag. Caught up in the first obstruction Dinger tried to pass through and held him there. 'Safely'. He hadn't got ten yards.

 And, if it weren't for Niggy showing me where le Ding was hidden? I'd have spent god alone knows how many hours, circling this place for miles around. Searching, phoning, praying ..... 

In my stress I'd never have thought to check that stupid little clump of bushes. I'd have been patrolling ditches far and wide.

 But, Niggy came through for us. Little Hero!

Brothers In Arms

         

Just Let The Dogs In .....

 I chain them out, for their dinners. Gives them peace and quiet to eat in. Then I leave them to digest it. Bring them in for the night after an hour or two.

  As I trudged gingerly through the snow, le Ding is busy running large circuits at the end of his chain. Of course, he's got it down to a circular ice rink by now.

  I glanced at this fearsome looking sheet and said; " Don't slip up now, Ding! " Concerned about him, haring round like that.

 Without breaking his manic stride, he just said; " I won't slip up, Dad. You might, ye old cunt. I'm a Dog. "

 As I gently crouched down, to unchain Nigger, wary of my back, I thought how right le Ding had been in his offhand appraisal.

 Fucking Dogs! Gotta love their minds .....
 

le Ding; The Thing Doer .....

Cracks me up, a lot of the time, this Dog. He just 'Does Things'. Most often, it's to do with his insinuating nature.

He does very little overtly and in a direct manner. He'd far sooner do anything 'casually'. Like, " Oh! There you are. And here was me, just happening to be sliding my head in here beside ye. Just, err ..... Just looking under this work station, really. By ye left hand. Which doesn't appear, now I actually notice it, to be doing anything much ..... Noticed my ears lately ....? " That's how le Ding will 'ask' for his ears to be fondled.

Only, last night, I caught him bang to rights. He'd been laying on my bed ~ for a change. Stove must've gotten so hot he'd decided to forsake that, most favoured of positions. And, there he was. Lounging peacefully.

I'd just got a new DVD and decided to have a crafty look at it. The big screen sparking up, even the introductory credits had no effect on le Dingo. But, as soon as the film started? Simply too much for even him.

He gave up all pretence of disinterest and settled down to 'Watch With Dad' ..... Crazy fucking Dog! :D

Nigger's Tale .....

Nigger. He's a Name. Not a Number. Though I only ever knew of him as " 4737 " on Louth County Council Dog Pounds web site. I came to find him thanks to " Sam ", the guy ye may have seen Commenting on here. Sam's big on championing the Rescue of Dogs. But, he puts his money where his mouth is. The guy Rescues, Fosters, Looks After, Breaks His Own Damn Heart Over as many Dogs as he can possibly manage. An Unsung Hero.

Sam had long since starting sliding URLs across the table at me. Just 'Something to take a look at'. I don't think he ever directly mentioned any particular Dog. Most of them made my heart bleed anyway. And I knew most of them would be dead in a week or so too.

But, what can I do? I have land, sure. I have enough land that I could build a huge fucking paddock and stick maybe twenty Dogs in it. I could likely keep them fed too. But, it'd be little more than a benign Concentration Camp for Dogs.

See; I'd be able to go in there twice, maybe three times a day? I'd pick up all their shit. I'd check and refresh their water bowls. I'd dole out their food, once a day. And they'd become basically a feral, contained pack. They'd sort their own social structure out. Maybe some would even die in the process? I'd drag the carcass out and sling it in a certain place I know of.

Is that any way to keep Dogs? I don't think so. Besides which, I'm only using that scenario as an example. Fact is; Constructing such an enclosure would cost me tens of thousands of pounds. I just haven't got that sort of money. What good, to Dogs, is an acre of land if they can't be contained within it? So, there we are.

Anyway; I must've mentioned to Sam how I had this feel for a rough, rangier, 'Black Lab' sort of Dog. Only, Sam would certainly know I simply won't have shit to do with castrated Dogs. So, then he sent me a few links to Dog Pounds (as very much different from 'Dog Rescues, in the main) where they really couldn't give a shit about letting Dogs go out with their balls still on. Just as long as the poor Dogs went out on their own four feet.

And that's how I discovered " Dog, Ref # 4737. Black Lab ~ Stray. Louth Dog Pound. " and decided he'd be worth my taking a chance on.

I e mailed them and stated my interest. Their " Tommy " shot me back, saying he was a great little Dog and his owners would probably be in to collect him. Him being a Stray, rather than a Handed In By Owner.

Well, I asked that I at least be granted first refusal, should it not happen. Then, after midnight on the day he was due for release, I mailed again. Could I have him now? Still Tommy held out. He told me; If 4737 wasn't claimed by closing time That day ..... He was giving this Dog one extra day.

Next day, I e mailed Tommy to say I wanted the Dog. Within an hour, I phoned him to say I was in a taxi and on my way. " A Taxi?! " Virtually screamed an astonished Tommy. " From Leitrim?!? ". Err ... Yes, Tommy. Two hundred mile round trip. In a taxi. To buy a Dog some cunt's 'Dropped Off' along a road some where. About an eight hour journey. I have no problem with that. Oh but, Tommy? Ye just don't know who ye dealing with here, do ye? This is Ditch Shitter. A man simply not given to fucking about!

Steve Flynn, one of my most regular Taxi's, probably learned more about my past than many people here will ever know, on that seemingly endless drive. Four fucking hours. And the Irish Love to ask questions and then just drink in the answers. Thus I had to provide most of the in car entertainment. By the time we reached Louth, even I'd ran out of things to say. I'd covered about thirty years of my life!

But, here we were. And there, one had to surmise, was 4737. There was this bald headed guy in the compound. Goatee beard and bouncy, black Lab' type Dog. " Fit looking Dog ..... " Commented Steve.

Well, Tommy let us in and was back inside with 4737 even before the automated gates had fully opened. I was lighting a roll up even before Steve was out of the motor! Then Tommy came back out to find me and I got a good look at the guy. Ye know when ye take just one look at someone and Know they're a good person? I really must look up Louth County Council and send them a note to say what a Good Egg they have in that man. I'm perfectly serious.

And there was 4737. He could barely take his eyes off Tommy. His tail never stopped wagging. This Dog Adored the guy! Then I was signing things. No worries! One thing was a Dog License ~ Saved me buying one next time I hit town. I Always license All my Dogs. The other was the Micro Chip Receipt, for the micro chip Tommy popped into 4737, right there and then. Scanning the Dog, to show me it was there and working.

Then, after a truly enjoyable chat about things of obviously mutual interest, it was time to open the door of the motor and invite 4737 to hop in the back. In he got. I managed to get in the front, without letting go of the collar and lead I'd brought with me. We were off. Homeward bound.

I don't think we were even out those gates before I turned, grinning into 4737's happily panting face, and said; " Well, Nigger, my love ..... "

Know what? Nigger just sat, laid, stood, good as gold. Good Four Hours! Not a fucking peep, whinge, whine, piss, shit, puke or fart out of him. Dog was a solid little angel, all the way home. And, when I got him here? I led him round for a sniffing, pissing session. Popped him on a chain. Watched him drink his fill of water. Took him into a back room and locked him there. Let the others out, to sniff his piss and piss on it. Put them away. Chained him up again, in sight of the window ..... Fucked off for Four More Hours! (I had business and this had, unavoidably clashed)

Back I came, midnight and gone. This is how I handled it: I let The Orange Dog out. She gave him a cursory glance and ignored him. I muzzled le Ding and Nigger. Brought le Ding out on a lead. Nigger cringed a bit. Ding tried a spot of high stepping and nose shoving. A firm " Oy! " from me told him that wasn't the idea.

Fifteen minutes later, after I'd spray disinfected. Mopped ..... God Dammit! ..... Done the same again! Gentle slap and a firm word. (Nigger should, by now, be getting the idea that he Does Not piss mark each outstanding object in my kitchen!) And we all came in here.

Nigger crashed out at my feet. le Ding settled down close by. Orange Dog went for a kip on my bed. Chain Dog ....? Well; Chain Dog's a bit of a sociopath. We don't care what Chain Dog's doing. It still means she'll kill them all, let out of there and given half a chance to!

Know what? I woke up today; Nigger still fast asleep, right where my feet had been all night. Dingo Dog fast asleep in his bed, two foot away from Nigger. Orange Dog in my arms and a fucking great grin on my face!

Right now, about thirty hours later as I write? Still like an explosion in a Dog factory. Dogs strewn all over the place. And Peace!

This is why I gave up the Bull breeds. Adore them as I do; I like more than one Dog around the place ;-)